


Something where Aradia doesn't die for once

by etherealApostate



Category: Homestuck
Genre: ? - Freeform, Apocalypsestuck, Collegestuck, F/M, Humanstuck, M/M, Zombie Apocalypse, Zombiestuck, idk - Freeform, im not writing this sober yall
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-26
Updated: 2016-08-19
Packaged: 2018-07-26 23:47:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 10,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7595053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/etherealApostate/pseuds/etherealApostate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sollux Captor and friends crash drunk at Aradia Megido's apartment. A zombie apocalypse ensues. The longer I keep writing, the higher the chances someone gets murdered. Someone who's not Aradia, that is. I kind of already gave that one away, didn't I.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Babysitter's Club

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> holy shit i just realized i change voices halfway through this chapter please shoot me

Clubs were definitely not your kind of thing. You knew that. Terezi knew that. You had made that insufferably clear. You had done everything but perforate it in big braille letters on the top of Terezi’s skull. And yet, as insufferable as you could be, Terezi always managed to out-insuffer you on this topic.

“If I’m gonna DD, can we at least go to a place that doesn’t give me a giant migraine?” You preached, eyes fixed resentfully on the road as you drove. “How would you like it if I ripped out your spine and then fucking fucked you with it, TZ? Cause that’s how it feels. Like my own personal gore-orgy up in this shit.” 

Terezi grinned and nested her palms over the head of her cane. “Relax, Mr. Sourblast, we’re meeting Strider and Vantas there. All your favorite salt-of-the-earth types.” 

“They fuckin put the salt in it, for sure,” you grumbled. This was new, though. Usually it was just Terezi bumbling around in the club getting drunk and doing whatever it was that got her socially sadistic rocks off while you watched from the corner, trying to make out your cellphone screen between strobe light flashes. You had known Karkat Vantas since high school, and got on well with his boyfriend Dave Strider – considering that the three of you were probably the most perfect possible synthesis of grade-A, organic assholes in at least the tri-state area. You almost caught yourself looking forward to this when you remembered you had to DD. 

You remembered the infamous shitshow of January 2015. 

You said, “You know what, TZ, are you guys gonna stay in the club? Cause I think there’s a coffee place across the street that –“

“I get it,” Terezi cut in. “You don’t want to babysit. Hardly reprehensible; I don’t want to be babysat myself. Go have fun sitting in the corner of a slightly quieter building. I’ll text you when we need to leave.” She turned her head away from you, maybe a little miffed, maybe just tired. Probably contemplating all the possible iterations of your corner-sitting habits.

“Thanks. I’ll be sure to update you on my wild night,” you said neutrally, and dropped it. 

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------  
This club was called The Merkin, and it was one they’d visited once or twice before. It encompassed four rooms, including a courtyard, and was packed by ten thirty. It was ten twenty-eight when Sollux followed Terezi into the club – it wasn’t like he didn’t want to see Karkat and Dave, he just didn’t want to stick around sober for their drunken escapades. Might as well have fun before they all got smashed.

Sollux always enjoyed watching Terezi interact with a fresh bouncer. First would be the slight confusion or pity (oh, is she blind?) then her authoritative manners would transition that into relief and amusement – then Terezi would grin, and they would see the sharpened teeth, and she would innocently tip her face so that the bouncer could see the puckered vermillion sockets behind the glasses (candy-red tapered ovals, like you’d get if someone gave a kid free reign to design glasses for a high-end eyewear company). Sollux shook his head a little, paying the entry fee for them both, as Terezi breezed onward into the club, cane clattering. The bouncer was more shaken than the previous ones (he must be new? Fuck if you could remember a face) and actually moved aside slightly when Sollux followed, even though there was plenty of room in the doorway. Terezi’s people skills were phenomenal. If Sollux were to look for evidence of a sixth sense, Terezi Pyrope would be where he’d start. 

Terezi knew her way to the bar well already, and was very loud in clearing her path – losing her was hardly a risk now. When she got to the quiet stage of drunk, well, that was different. 

“I told them to meet me at the bar,” Terezi informed him in her loudest non-scream, when Sollux finally caught up and snagged the seat beside her. 

“Cool,” you replied. The music almost drowned you out. “Bartender’s already coming over,” you told Terezi. She nodded, leaning into the bar a little more.

“WHAT CAN I GET FOR YOU?” 

“DOUBLE GIN AND TONIC, PLEASE!” 

The bartender looked at Sollux. He shook his head and mouthed “I’m good thanks.” 

“SOLLUX!” The intended recipient jumped as an arm slapped around him; it then registered to his relief that this was Karkat. “WHAT’S UP, NERD?”

Sollux smiled, until the wave of rank alcohol on Karkat’s breath hit him. “TOO SOBER FOR THIS,” He told the room at large, but Karkat was already moving on to Terezi, catching her up in a drunken bear hug. Dave was right behind, slapping Sollux on the back bro-style, and giving that loose grin he got on his face after two too many. 

“SHOTS?” Karkat screamed at Dave.

“FUCKIN A! FUCKIN A, HOMESLICE!” Dave screamed back.

Sollux felt the impending twinges of a migraine and decided it was time to make a graceful exit from imminent idiocy while such was possible. Instead, after Terezi, Karkat, and Dave had downed their shots with lightning speed, he found himself dragged onto the dance floor, well, one of the dance floors, maybe this was another room? The lights were loud and flashing, and the music was already doing a number, no, a fucking Fibonacci sequence, on his brain. 

“I’LL BE ACROSS THE STREET” He screamed at Terezi, who was at least still among the cogent, and she nodded in acquiescence. Sollux started making his way through the chaos of elbows and hips and faces – there was an exit sign! Yes. Excellent. And not too far away either. Thank god.

\--------------------------------  
Outside the club, the sudden absence of people, noise, heat, smells, and lights hit you like the most welcome brick wall you’d ever come face-to-fault-line with. This is how Dante felt getting out of hell and into, well, purgatory. Fucking forest of suicides back there. Then you took in your surroundings along with a couple of deep breaths, and realized that this was not the exit you had wanted. In fact, this was the exit used for an apparently large amount of trash – two dumpsters’ worth – and you felt a weak smile on your face at the dramatic irony up in this bitch. Then you heard something rustling in the dumpster, and remembered how much rabies shots cost without insurance, and decided that making your way back through the club was your better bet.

You turned to push on the door – and it was locked. 

Seriously? You tried again, and once more. “Fuck!” You started beating on the door, and then realized that no one would be able to hear you inside. The rustling got way louder.  
Oh god, what if it was a bum. Not only was your wallet going to die, you were going to get raped and dumped in with all the Merkin’s slimy leavings! You cast around for a hiding place, or a weapon, or something, when the rustling came to an aggressive climax.

You readied yourself for confrontation. Tried to be as intimidating as possible. Maybe you could just run past…?

A girl’s head popped up over the edge of the dumpster, and she was clearly not homeless – washed hair, red lipstick, made-up eyes – and as she climbed out, you saw that she was wearing a full-body plastic suit.

You know, Hannibal-style. 

“Hey!” She said brightly, heaving the largest backpack you had ever seen out with her. “I guess you don’t work for this place?” She pulled off one rubber glove and wiped sweat from her upper lip.

“Uh, no.” You cleared your throat. “You’d be in a lot more trouble if I were, eheh.” Nervous chuckle. Way to go on the intimidating factor! Just great!

“Haha, yeah!” she removed her other glove and started stripping the clear plastic jumpsuit off. It was fogged with sweat and dirt in many places. You realized she’d probably been doing this for a while today. “So,” She continued, wadding her suit up and stuffing it in her ludicrously large red backpack, “I’m kinda lost at this point. I’ve been out since about seven. You know any good places close by to eat cheap?”

You thought fleetingly about inviting her with you for coffee, and an immediate “Fuck, no” resounded in your brain. This girl was probably serial killer material. “Uh, nah,” you said. “I’m kinda lost too, came here through the club, not sure which exit was the right one….” 

“Gotcha.” She hoisted her backpack up onto her shoulders and made to leave. “See you around!”

I hope to fuck not, you thought, and counted to a hundred before continuing behind her into the back alley.


	2. Babysitters Club: The Sittening

Turns out, the alley emptied out directly beside the entrance to the Merkin (thank god), and you soon settled in across the street for some coffee and a croissant. Your phone read two past eleven, and you were relatively secure in the conviction that Terezi, Dave, and Karkat were still going strong. Oh, well. You had a comfortable view of what you presumed were all the exits.

  
You flipped idly through your phone. Maybe you’d hit up Pesterchum. None of your friends had used that since high school; maybe it would be fun to hit some of them up and shoot the breeze. Then you remembered you didn’t have much to talk about. Hi, Fef, I spend 24 hours a day locked in my room and glued to a screen until my roommate physically drags me out to DD on the weekends. What’s new in your life? Yeah, no. The back of your neck tingled with secondhand embarrassment for that potential iteration of yourself. You returned to your people-watching, your mind abject and your fingers itching for something to keep them occupied.

  
As you finished the first cup of coffee, something caught your eye – the red backpack, again with its owner. Instinctively you flattened yourself into a corner. God, what if she was one of those psycho stalker types? Not that you would know anything about stalking. Well, not that you had the time of day for stalking, more like.

  
No, you found, she had no clue you were so close. Dumpster girl was ducking back into the alley. Weird – why would she be dumpster diving again?  
You shrugged internally – if an idiot wants to get killed, that’s not my problem – and stood to go get a refill.

  
Fifteen minutes later your phone dinged. Terezi. You stared for a moment at the message, struck by a need to reread it.

  
“In alley behind bar, get over here.”

  
TZ, what in the eternally oscillating school of shit acrobatics have you gotten yourself into, you thought.

  
\---

  
It had started to rain lightly during the short time it took you to reach the requisite alley.

  
You were rubbing the drops off your lenses when you reached the following scene: backpack girl and Dave were rehearsing what appeared to be an elaborate handshake; Karkat was giggling uncontrollably, and Terezi was sporting the white-tie formalwear of all shit-eating grins. A dead raccoon lay center stage, guts blown out its ass. The rain was beginning to wash blood in your direction.

  
“We have here an apparent victim of vehicular homicide!” Terezi yowled, pointing tremulously at the carcass with her cane. “A ve-hic, uh, vehictem! if you will.”  
Karkat doubled over, wheezing.

  
“Hi, again!” Backpack girl waved excitedly over at you, interrupting the handshake. Dave accidentally slapped himself.

  
You had here, you thought, cast your eyes into the abyss of shit that you did not want happening on your weekend, and here it was, Kubricking right back at you.

  
“First of all,” you started, “We are going the fuck home, TZ. Dave, Karkat – KK goddammit listen – do you need a ride?”

  
“Dude, we’re crashin with Aradia!” Dave told you excitedly. You looked at backpack girl – Aradia – in consternation.

  
“Do you have a car? Cause I’m pretty sure these two aren’t walking anywhere any time soon. And Dave! Are you, what, long-lost friends with her or something?”

  
“No, I was going to get a taxi, if they’ll help me pay?” Aradia said.

  
“Hell yeah we’re long-lost friends, known her since elementary school!” Dave told you excitedly. He then frowned. “Don’t got cash, though.”

  
“Great.” you said. “Karkat –“

  
Karkat was asleep in a pile of garbage.

  
“Fuck. Fuck, I’ll give you all a ride. Let me go get the car.” You turned, grinding your teeth.

  
\--

  
By the time your four damp, alcohol-infused and garbage-seasoned passengers clambered in, you were about 85% done with the entire night. Your entire mind was roughly two small steps away from physically dissociating from your body and continuing its existence as an astral projection of pure martyrous suffering.

  
Naturally, you didn’t bat an eye when Aradia climbed into the passenger seat, a clear plastic bag full of dead raccoon cradled in her arms as if it were her firstborn child.

  
Instead of immediately flipping your shit and insisting she remove herself and/or the dead animal from your vicinity, you calmly asked, “Where the fuck do you live.”

  
“43 Russell Park,” she answered.

  
You hit the gas with a vengeance.

  
As you slammed into compliance with a red light two blocks away from the requisite address, Dave piped up from the backseat drunkard sandwich, “Hey! TZ! You know what we should do? Have a sleepover!”

  
Terezi cackled and attempted to shake Karkat awake. Failing, she turned to Aradia. “Please???”

  
“TZ, you can’t just invite yourself to a stranger’s—“ you started, but Aradia was already speaking.

  
“Sure! I think that would be fun, actually. I have popcorn, we can watch a movie.”

  
“Fuck yeah!” Dave proclaimed.

  
Turning to you, Aradia said in a low voice, “I think it really might be best if you all slept at my place. Any friends of Dave’s are friends of mine, and I know you could use some help taking care of these guys.”

  
You grudgingly saw the logic in this. “I guess. I can’t accept responsibility if they fuck your shit up, though. Drown your cat or anything.”

  
Aradia giggled deep in her throat. “None of my cats are really drownable.”

  
You felt yourself losing hope in your life. “Dave, how long have you known Aradia?” You directed to the back.

  
“Twenty years!” Came the response.


	3. Babysitters Club: Sit Gets Serious

Aradia’s apartment was first floor of a dingy brutalist building, and thank god for that placement, because hauling a sleeping Karkat up more than zero flights of stairs was something you were not about to do. 

You had prepared yourself for the task of carrying him inside, but to your surprise Aradia slung him over her shoulder in a secure fireman’s carry.  
The girl could put her back into it. You respected that. 

Between Karkat and her newly adopted raccoon, however, Aradia was a little short on hands, and she let you unlock apartment 4. As the first one in the living room, you took advantage of door-holding duty to gape unrestrainedly at the apartment’s furnishings.

Dead things. Everywhere. Lots of skulls, partially or wholly articulated skeletons, and pickled corpses; a smaller number of pelts and taxidermied specimens. The centerpiece of the room, an unbelievably large ram skull, glared down at you from above the half-partitioned entrance to the kitchen.

“Daaaaamn, ‘radia,” Dave slurred, flopping himself on a paper-ridden couch (which responded with a resigned squeak). “Hella specimens you got up in here. ‘Slike fucking Christmas.”

“Specimens?” Terezi asked, tottering in behind him. “Oh, yeah, everybody forget the blind girl!”

“TZ, don’t be a dick, nobody’s forgotten you, let’s get to the couch,” you said, taking her arm and leading her to the other end of the couch. She tapped around with her cane for a few minutes, then flopped back with way too much abandon. “There are a bunch of animal skeletons as decorations, some taxidermied ones too.” 

“Huh, cool,” she noted, wriggling onto her side, head nestling into the couch’s ample folds. 

Aradia transferred Karkat gently to the floor. “Let me go get some extra blankets....” She headed briskly into the short dark hallway by the kitchen.

Karkat immediately woke up. The first thing out of his mouth was an exorbitant volume of vomit.

“God fucking damnit,” you muttered. “Fuck. You got paper towels, Aradia?” you called.

“Yeah! Under the sink! Sorry!”

“Shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit fucking shit,” Karkat proclaimed, and let loose another flood.

You double-stepped it to the sink, and fished out paper towels and what looked like cleaning spray. Back with Karkat, you methodically started throwing towels onto the floor, Karkat, and all other tainted areas.

“Damn, Sol,” Dave mumbled, rising unevenly from the couch and beginning to help you distribute the towels. “Makin it rain.....”

“The pressing issue is, does anyone else need to vacate their stomach pronto?” you asked the room at large. Aradia was back, sheathed in a pile of blankets.  
Karkat wiped his chin with one oversized sweater sleeve and rolled away from the mess, incoherent. 

“No? I’ll take that as a no.” You started balling up paper towel/vomit goop and transporting it gingerly to the trash can. Dave crawled back onto the couch.  
Aradia set the blankets down behind the couch and bent to help. “Holy shit. That is a lot of vomit.”

“You’re tellin me,” you muttered. Together the two of you finished getting the main volume of bile and chunks out and sprayed the carpet thoroughly. When you finally straightened, Karkat and Terezi were already asleep. Dave was halfway dozing, and slowly but surely pulling a blanket onto himself over the back of the couch. Aradia helped him. You collapsed in an armchair. 

“Fuck.”

“That could have gone worse,” said Aradia. 

“Yeah, you could’ve been a serial killer.”

“Haha, I couldn’t dream of it. Only a serial collecter, I’m afraid.” Your last conscious companion stepped into the kitchen. “I’m getting some gin. It’s been a long night. Want any?”

“Sure, thanks,” You said. It would be great to feel a little less like a sack of shit for a few minutes today.

She momentarily handed you a glass. 

“Thanks,” you repeated. She crashed in the other armchair. A few sips went by.

“So,” you began, “what were you doing in that dumpster?”

Aradia shrugged. “It’s a hobby.” Sip. “Well, that and I find a lot of canned food that’s still pretty good. Hate seeing that go to waste.”

You nodded silently. Judging by the looks of the room (if you disregarded the meticulously placed animal artifacts) this girl might actually be dumpster diving out of necessity. 

“You a student?” she asked you.

Oh. “Not really. I do software work for this one place, and I have personal projects, but that’s it. You?”

“Yeah. Working on my doctorate in archaeology. ‘Swhy I don’t have jack shit cash, especially paying rent alone.” She laughed a little. “Couldn’t seem to find a roommate.”

I wonder why, you thought to yourself. Instead you said, “Cool.”

“I knew Dave since we were kids,” she began unasked. “Dead stuff was his first hobby, you know, way before rap or photography or anything else.”

“I can see that,” you said absentmindedly. “Hard to imagine Dave with a hobby before Karkat, though.”

Aradia snorted. 

A sound like a fridge opening up came from past the hallway. You merely looked in its direction, but Aradia jumped, going pale. 

“Excuse me,” she said, standing and hurrying towards the noise. 

“What is it?” You called after. Maybe she had some live cats after all, back there. 

“Nothing! Nothing!” came the reply. 

You got a bad feeling about this. 

You downed the rest of your drink and stood up. You followed the rummaging sounds now coming from the end of the hallway.

In what appeared to be a spare bedroom, Aradia had donned gloves and a denim jacket and was frantically shoving a supine refrigerator closed with some difficulty. The room reeked of rotting flesh. She started when you came in, looking back at you, but instead of backing away from whatever the fuck was going on in there, she said urgently, “Will you help me with this? Please!”

You squinted, adjusted your glasses, and moved to the refrigerator. “Is there a person in there?”

Oh, God. She was a serial killer.

“No! Yes! It’s hard to explain! Please—“ before she could finish, the refrigerator burst open. Something you had never expected in your life to see emerged.  
It was a zombie. Dead, flesh flapping from its bones as it lurched upwards to two feet and stepped unsteadily out of the fridge. Aradia was behind you and the door was closed before you knew what was happening. 

“Get behind me!” She said. Her tone was loud and cold, and it jolted you into obedience. She grabbed a machete from a pile of clothes and brandished it with uncanny certainty. You felt all your blood drop to your stomach. Your stomach was currently in your pelvis. This was insane.

She and the zombie swayed back and forth, each sizing the other up. You noticed the thing’s face – covered with clown paint of all things, and it raised its clawish hands unsteadily. 

Aradia lunged forward and slammed her machete into its chest. The claws dug into her jacket but couldn’t pierce it – she drove it backwards, both of them stumbling as you watched, until it tripped over the refrigerator and twisted to the carpet.

“Fuck,” you breathed. Your knees felt wobbly. Searching for something as it tried to stand, you settled on clothes. You grabbed a heavy-looking jacket and flung it at the thing. Aradia turned back to you, you saw disrupted anger in her eyes, but she yelled,

“Keep doing it!” And she turned back to the ungodly thing on the ground. 

You threw, again and again, as she hacked. Some of the blows clearly did nothing. Others sliced in partially. At last, Aradia let out a triumphant roar as her machete sunk into the things left arm, severing sinews and tendons.

You moved to a stack of books and kept throwing. Why hadn’t you thought of these earlier? Fucking useless, fucking useless! Aradia didn’t seem to notice your incompetence; she stood firmly on the zombie’s mauled arm. Its legs kicked hard, but with no good direction, and it curled around her calf like a child might, its jaws too close to her denim-covered leg – 

“No!” You screamed, throwing a thick tome. The book struck exactly as Aradia plunged her machete deep into its softened skull.  
The sound made you gag. You swallowed your own vomit. Aradia inspected her leg. No puncture was visible.

“A-aradia,” you said, “We need to have a talk.”


	4. Babysitter's Club: We're Having a Sitdown

“What was I supposed to do? He was my roommate!” Aradia said, gesticulating wildly.

“I dunno, call the fucking FBI or some shit? Anything that a sane person would think to do before stuffing their dead zombie roommate into a fridge?” You felt a bit of spittle fly out and land on Aradia’s nightstand. The two of you were on her bed, trying not to wake up the innocent drunk civilians in the other room.

“I wasn’t thinking straight. I doubt you would have been.” Aradia bit her lip. “Besides. I kind of wanted to…. Observe him. For science.”

“You’re fucking insane.”

“Well, I handled it, didn’t I?” Aradia smiled hard, and you actually recoiled in surprise. “I killed the thing!”

“And now nobody can observe it. Fuck. You did not think this through.”

Her expression softened. “Yeah. You’re right. At least it didn’t bite me, though.”

“So, that was your roommate?”

“Yeah. I mean, I don’t know how much of the room you saw, but I’m not that into hoarding clown horns and unicycles and…. Juggalo paraphernalia. But anyway, his name was Gamzee. Gamzee Makara. He came home a couple weeks ago, he’d gotten into a fight. I didn’t give it much thought. Normally he was a super docile guy, but always hung out with the wrong crowd, lots of stoners and ravers and worse. He’d get mixed up in shit from time to time. But this time he described it to me like he’d been attacked by animals.”

Aradia took a deep breath. “He had a chunk bitten out of his arm. Wouldn’t let me get him to a hospital. I patched him up and he spent a lot of time in his room after that. A couple days later I started hearing weird thumps, moaning, stuff like that from his room. And then I went in, I found, well, that thing, and I stuffed it in an old fridge the guys in 23B threw away.” 

You sat in silence for a moment. “Holy shit.”

“Yeah.”

“We need to get out of here. If this is really happening, it’s going to spread fast. We may already be too late.”

“I think we have a chance. If we hurry.”

“We have to try. I’m not going to let this get fucked up and have to bear the blame of it until I die a certain and painful death,” you said. “We need to get the car loaded pronto and head north. It’ll be harder for them to move in the cold. Canada, if we can get there.”

She nodded. “That sounds good. Dave has some cash on hand from his brother – we can get a hotel room with that for a while.” 

“Yeah. If the economic system collapses, we can go from there. It can’t be that hard to build a cabin.”

Aradia laughed, and you found yourself almost basking in the warmth. The feeling left quickly when you remembered what was in the next room. 

“Let’s hope everything collapses before the police find out what’s happened to Gamzee and think you murdered him,” you said, standing up abruptly. “Let’s go.”


	5. Babysitter's Club: Insitious Necessities

You slammed the driver’s door shut, hands shaking a little. Terezi, Dave, and Karkat were back in their previous places; only Terezi had woken up on the way to the car, but her wakefulness was as quickly undone as it was begun. Aradia buckled her seatbelt beside you. 

“OK,” she said. “Are you thinking of heading where I am?”

Apparently you were, because she punched you excitedly on the arm as you pulled into the Walmart parking lot. You glared at her briefly, and she apparently remembered that civilized society does not condone rampant punching.

“Sorry,” she said.

“It’s fine. Do you know anything about camping? Because I sure as hell don’t.”

“Yeah, actually. My first dig was in Canada, and it was pretty rough up there.”

“I’ll stay with these three, then.” You dug in your pocket a moment. “Here’s my credit card. Let’s blow some cash before the apocalypse hits.”

You watched Aradia leave, then turned back, looking straight ahead, hands on the steering wheel. One glance at the rearview mirror showed your friends were still safely asleep. 

You let yourself cry. This whole situation was inimitably stupid. Who did you think you were anyway? This was ridiculous. You could see yourself already, dead and unknowing, hurting god knows who before having to be hacked up like a slaughtered pig. 

You stopped yourself from crying and let a feeling of doom settle in your gut. You could see already how this was going to play out. And yet, there weren’t any better apparent plans. You shoved a finger behind your glasses and forcefully wiped the tears out of your eyesockets. 

You counted your breaths: in, out, one, two, one, two. At last you had yourself under control. 

TZ was stirring again in the back. You looked up to check on her, but she was merely repositioning, sliding her slim frame out from under the seatbelt and curling up. Head on Dave’s lap, feet on Karkat’s, slim hips falling neatly in between. 

You had plenty of time to mull over how to explain the situation to your friends – well, in theory you did, in reality this period mostly consisted of you cursing yourself in gratuitous masochism – until you heard the approaching rattle of a shopping cart. Aradia was coming back from the Walmart at last. You popped the trunk and climbed out to help her unload. 

“Let’s see. Tent, lots of water, machetes, ammo for the .44 – we’ll want to get a crossbow or a rifle sometime if we can – food bars, tampons -- we’re still picking up Terezi’s and your shit, right? And Dave and ‘Kat’s? Good! – Bunsen burner, way more butane than I should be allowed to legally acquire, first aid stuff, water purifiers –“ Aradia continued to rattle off her purchases. You observed in awe for a moment, then started helping her load shit into the trunk. She moved faster and more purposefully than you could seem to, in words and in shit-loading, and you felt a slight twinge of envy at that, but you kept going anyway. 

The trunk was packed full by the time the two of you climbed back in your Prius and headed off to the Happy Home of Pyrope and Captor™. 

Karkat woke up halfway there. Somehow, he didn’t quite make it to the level of cogency where he’d question being in your car with all the evening’s most entertaining personages, but you knew the foundational levels of his personality were still intact, because he managed to snort, “I can’t believe you drive a fucking Prius, Sollux,” before falling quiet and presumably dozing off again.

You glanced briefly at Aradia. A smile was playing at her lips – not exactly a teasing smile, but one that you might give, say, a kid who had just learned the Vulcan salute. You felt honored for a brief flash, until your usual disgruntlement settled in. 

“Whiskey,” you muttered.

“What?” Aradia asked, the smile hardly fading.

“If I’m going to be stuck with all you fucks I’m gonna need a large, large stock of whiskey. Unless you want me to literally drink rubbing alcohol and dream for the sweet release of death in the depths of my sobriety.”

“If we have enough money left.” Aradia stared into the distance, eyebrows raised beneath her dark bangs, as if appraising the situation. 

You pulled into the parking lot of the dingy house where you and Terezi kept a basement apartment.“This won’t take long.”

“Are you sure you know everything she needs?”

“Yeah.” You left the keys in the ignition and headed inside.

Sleeping bags. Clothes – thick, warm clothes. Terezi’s extra cane. Terezi’s favorite dragon plushy. 

You stopped cold. Your medication. 

You sat down in a chair. You got up. You paced for several minutes. 

You decided that there was only one good course of action here.

You grabbed the remaining bottle of pills and started carrying shit to the car. 

The last load went in tight – the trunk was full before then, and it had to be wedged in under Dave’s feet. He woke up, adjusting his shades and wiping a bit of drool from his mouth, but you didn’t pay him any mind. You got in the driver’s seat and turned to Aradia.

“Aradia,” you said. “AA.”

“Yeah?” She sounded curious at her new nickname. Whatever. That was your thing.

“We need to hold up a pharmacy.”


	6. Interludicrousity

The author reclines as well as they are able into a small but stiff (like many other things in their short, sad life) wooden chair. The vanity on which their laptop rests is scattered with cigarette butts, an amorphous mass of drained liquor bottles, and an alarming number of empty horseradish jars. 

Before them, the screen glows with the blazing colors of the Google logo; below that, the words "how to hold up a pharmacy." 

Helicopters whirr in the distance. The familiar scent of hyacinths fills the room. 

The author pulls their camo baseball cap low over their eyes and adjusts their orange muscle shirt. Their knuckles' cracking dispels the scent of hyacinths, and they pull out a bag of Cool Ranch Doritos(TM). They take up a tome of deconstructive discourse and begin using the spine to crush one of the hyacinths -- Doritos, I mean! yeah, Doritos -- into a fine powder. The author's nostrils quiver in anticipation.


	7. Babysitters Club: Sities of the Damned

“OK. Fine. So we’re not holding up a fucking pharmacy,” you grumbled from the back seat.

How OK Terezi and Dave were with an impending zombie apocalypse was alarming. How Karkat had managed to fume for five hours straight on like two hours of sleep was even more alarming. But what really set your fucking dingers to the maximum scream was the fact that you, Sollux Captor, had been browbeaten into the backseat of your own damn Prius. “Shotgun rotation” your ass. This was fucking treason.

After Karkat had screamed himself hoarse in the first hour, you managed to grab a few moments of resentful sleep before Aradia had rudely reminded you that you were supposed to be driving and OH MY GOD SOLLUX KEEP YOUR EYES ON THE ROAD YOU’RE GOING TO DRIVE US INTO THE MEDIAN. 

You resolutely ignored the giant pit of guilt in your stomach for driving while so tired. Was your subconscious really that fucked up? God, did you even need to get bitten by a zombie to make you a suicidal/homicidal maniac? You were then shoved in the back seat. Karkat took shotgun, which seemed to alleviate his tantrum somewhat. 

More sleep ensued, for you at least, and when you had for the most recent time woken up, you had courteously reminded Aradia of your previous request to rob a fucking pharmacy before you ran out of medication and took a dive off the handle that would make Olympic gold gymnasts green with envy.

You were kindly reminded by Aradia, with interpolations from Terezi and a stream of loud, raspy indignations from Karkat, that civilization had not yet fucking collapsed. 

You had rolled your eyes. “You better hope they have CVSes in Canada,” you had said. The reprimands didn’t really stop. Dave joined in with the occasional chortle. If you closed your eyes, you had found, and clenched your ear muscles just right, it sounded like a choir of Catholic schoolboys trying to freestyle after doing cocaine for the first time. 

At last, when Aradia had run out of unnervingly morbid comments, and Terezi out of legal jargon, and Karkat had, well, gotten more hoarse, relative quiet returned to the car. 

You were about to try to get some shuteye (like there was a 50% chance Dave was doing behind those shades) when Aradia swerved hard off the main road.  
“Oakland University, Rochester, Michigan!” She proclaimed loudly.

Dave startled. “The fuck is up in Michigan?”

“The farthest north Chik-Fil-A in America. This will likely be the last Chik-fil-a we ever taste.”

“Shit,” Dave said solemnly.

“I personally don’t see the big fucking deal here,” Karkat informed the car.

“Southerners,” you said wearily, grimacing inside at the way your lisp mangled the word. “They’re all fucking obsessed with Chik-fil-a.”

“Damn straight,” Dave said, casting a look in your direction. “And I may never get that meaty mouthful of heaven that is a Chik-fil-a chicken sandwich again, but if the dead are rising, I’m calling dibs on Cathy Truett.”

“No you are not,” Terezi immediately shot back. “Even if you were a corpsefucker, Cathy Truett is ten out of ten times not your type.” She adjusted her glasses and sat up a little straighter between the two of you. “I call bullshit on your characterization.”

“Would you guys stop fucking LARPING as yourselves for ten minutes so we can get some breakfast before the end of the goddamn world?” you asked sharply. 

The car was quiet for a minute. 

Aradia turned on the radio and pulled into the Chik-fil-a.

“Reports of corpses reanimated by a terrifying new virus are—“

She switched it off so fast you barely saw her hand move. The car was now deadly silent. 

“We’re going to the drive through,” She said. Her voice sounded uncharacteristically shaken.


	8. Babysitters Club: A Precarious Position

Vriska Serket took a long drag from a short cigarette, then put out the end in an ashtray located just behind a homemade “No Smoking” sign that stood on the desk. She gave a sudden grin to the approaching customer.

“How may I help you?” Vriska’s voice and smile dripped with tooth.

“I’d like to book a room for two,” The girl answered, brushing a thick black curl behind her ear. “For, uh…. For a while. We’re on an extended vacation here.”

“Great. I’m putting you in 17 and I’ll take $420 for the first two weeks.” Vriska turned and dug out a key. Confirming her suspicions about her new guest, the payment was ready in cash when Vriska turned back around. Vriska smirked slightly at the innocent façade of the girl before her, put down the key, and took the bills. “Name?”

“Uh, Amanda Wilkins.”

Vriska typed her into the computer system and reached for the cash as “Amanda” made her exit. Four hundreds and a twenty. This girl was obviously totally fucking new to the game. Renting for _two weeks_ , paying in hundreds, not to mention – well, just take a look at that _face_ , Vriska thought. Sucker.

Vriska looked down at her phone. Two missed calls from Eridan Ampora.

“Fuck you,” she muttered. Her eyes shot around the lobby to ensure it was cleared before she hit redial.

Soon enough, Ampora’s pompous strains filled her ear.

“Yo. Serket speaking. What do you want.”

“I want you to send more than two people to the rendezvous tonight.” Ampora’s voice was hushed, and Vriska heard traces of traffic in the background.

“Wow, you really are dumber than you sound if you’re talking about this in public,” Vriska commented. “Besides, you don’t need more than two. If there’s a problem, we need to be able to efficiently cut our losses.” She watched from the glass door as the kids outside unloaded their shit from a comically clean blue Prius. Wow. The number of them was concerning – she’d have to do some checkups to make sure they weren’t infringing on business – and the fact that they looked totally inexperienced in anything illegal didn’t help. For god’s sake, did one of them have a fucking cane? Damn. What a shitshow.

Her mind returned to hear Ampora rattling on again. “—Half a mind to call the whole thing off, and I will, just you watch me, if they get there and there’s fucking zombies on board –“ His voice quivered with self-righteousness.

“Ampora, with all due respect, shut it,” Vriska told him. “The rendezvous is going to go fine. Jefferson and Whitney can handle themselves.”

“Watch your fuckin’ mouth –“ But Vriska had already hung up. She reached down to the desk drawer and pulled out another cigarette.


	9. Babysitters Club: Big Desitions

Terezi flopped on the bed nearest the door; you felt a slight bounce in your position on the edge. Aradia finished locking the door and turned around, hands on her hips.

“So what are we supposed to do now?” Terezi asked. “Sit around until we get killed?”

Karkat clicked on the television.

“—Are in a state of panic. International borders have been closed completely, leaving travelers stranded across the world—“

Karkat clicked off the television.

“Well, shit, at least we got here,” Dave said to the room in general.

Sollux stood up and took two steps to stand beside Aradia, then opened the curtains an inch. Outside, it was beginning to snow (no surprise considering how assfuck-cold it was, god, you could stay warmer in your dead mother’s vagina, he thought).

“What in the name of shitsnacks are we gonna do with all this crap?” Karkat asked. “Set up camp inside the motel?”

“Well, I guess, for now,” Aradia began.

“Does anybody have a smoke.” Sollux was fishing in his pockets.

“Once the signs start looking doomy we should probably start boarding up the windows, set a bar on the door, and all,” Aradia continued.

“Sounds like a start. And then we move location when the heat turns up. I’m looking up cabin rentals right now,” Terezi added, her thin frame hunched over a laptop, earpiece in. “There are some that are relatively secluded but still close to supplies.”

“Does anyone have a smoke,” Sollux asked more loudly.

“This sounds like a terrible idea, staying here I mean,” Karkat interjected. “Why didn’t we just get a damn cabin in the first place?”

Terezi shot a damning look in his direction. “Well, Mr. Moneybags, they’re of course totally within our price range. If this thing blows over I want to have _some_ cash left to rebuild my life with, for one.”

Dave coughed. “You mean, uh, my cash. I’m chill with putting in on this maneuver but if this shit _does_ blow over I’m gonna have my Bro to answer to.”

“Does anyone have a _fucking_ smoke!” Sollux practically yelled. A floorboard creaked in the next room. The gathered party fell quiet a moment.

“No, Sollux, no one has a fucking smoke,” Terezi said, defeat in her voice. “I’m sure we can get some from the gas station. Somewhere. If we don’t die first.”

Aradia nodded. “We _have_ to get our ducks in a row.”

Sollux bit his lip, then stood. “I’m gonna buy some fucking smokes.” He opened the door to leave. “See you.”

Behind the wall, Vriska removed a glass from the plaster by her ear and rolled her eyes. Meth? Cocaine? Whatever, these kids were out of their depth – seriously so.

Again, _whatever_. One man’s doomed drug deal was another man’s drug mine. She turned to slip out the passage between hotel walls, get back to the lobby. If Tavros hadn't managed to burn it down by now, that is. A smoke sounded good to her right now.


	10. Babysitters Club: Sitgarette Run

You ground your teeth as you unlocked your car. Why had you interrupted like that? It was a decent plan, as good as any you could come up with, but the need for nicotine was preeminent on your nerves. Why the _fuck_ , who the _fuck_ cursed you with these self-destructive tendencies? Absolute  _bullshit._ Bullshit.

You growled a little in frustration, jerked the car into reverse, and slammed on the radio.

Maroon Five.

You slammed off the radio with renewed vigor.

The gas station was only across the street. You browsed the signs as you exited the car. None of the familiar American brands – you went with the “Canadian Classic.”

Thirty fucking dollars. _Canadian_ dollars.

This day just keeps getting better, you thought on your way back to the motel.

The street was relatively deserted. Maybe that was just the area; maybe it was the oncoming zombie apocalypse. Maybe it was Maybelline. You stopped outside of room seventeen (why hadn’t you parked closer to the door dammit, that was a fucking annoying walk) and lit up.

The sweet fog of nicotine soon settled your mind, and you began to look toward the future.

How long was your medication going to last? The sertraline, you remembered, had a full rattle the last time you’d taken it. The aripiprazole, not so much. Fuck. You brought up your wrist to glance at the watch: three fifteen. A cold gust of October air swept past. Almost time to decrease those little numbers of pills. You’d set up your rig, try to get some refills from the nearest CVS. Then check out black market suppliers and start casing nearby pharmacies for the inevitable collapse of civilization. Yeah. Fat chance the government was going to have much luck stopping that.

You finished your cigarette and ground out the stub with your heel. Wasn’t like the town was going to be that much improved if you refrained from one piece of pint-sized biodegradable litter. You smiled a little as you imagined the immediate un-gentrification that the apocalypse would wring.

Silver linings, you told yourself, silver linings.


	11. Babysitters Club: First Siting

You woke to the sound of footsteps damping gently into carpet. The morning sun was curling underneath the window’s curtains. You felt the soft warmth of Terezi’s breath, and the movement of her belly as she breathed; she was curled around you. Rampant spooning.

You turned your head a fraction of an inch; Aradia was awake, dressed already in fresh clothes, one hand at the curtain and the other resting against the wall. Black shirt, long gray skirt, white sneakers. She looked like a Catholic schoolgirl dressing out of uniform for the first time.

You heard a moaning outside.

She let the curtain fall back from where she had peeled it up slightly, and turned back to face the room.

“Sollux,” She whispered. “Don’t panic. One of them is out there.”

The events of the past few days came rushing back to you and you tensed immediately. Terezi shifted in her sleep, rolling away from you slightly. You took the opportunity to grab your glasses from the table and sit up on the bed.

“Is it… is it close?” You whispered.

Aradia made a handy-wavy motion. “Not _far._ ”

“We need to stay put. No need to wake the others.”

You eased off the bed and  shoved a hand beneath your glasses to rub your eyes. Then you went for the peephole on the door.

Nothing, at first, looked unusual. Then something moved at the far end of the parking lot.

Zombie. Not particularly rotten. It had been an old woman. If you disregarded its movements, it looked almost human. Probably unable to walk well in life, it was working its way across the parking lot on hands and knees, very slowly. Its movements were slow and ponderous, like a snake just waking into the winter cold. It left a trail of drag marks for as long as you could see in the thin lining of snow on the pavement. Spots seemed tinged with faint brown. It had been going for a while, you surmised.

The noise of a helicopter grew louder from the distance, and kept increasing until it sounded directly above you. You looked back at Aradia. She wore a grim countenance, eyes to the ceiling.

A barrage of deafening shot-sounds split the air. You jumped and you turned back to the peephole in fear to see a swarm of bullets rip through the air – and the former old woman – from above. You watched her corpse jump and twitch as they tore through it.

After the longest ten seconds of your life, it went totally limp, bleeding profusely in the snow.

“Did what I think happened just happen?” Aradia muttered, suddenly close to your ear. You started again, a little, and nodded. You heard her step sideways, back to the window, now that it was safe to look.

“What is going on.” A shaky voice – Karkat’s – came from behind you. You realized everyone must be awake.

“Zombie. Helicopter shot it down,” you heard Aradia saying.

“Holy shit.” Dave.

You were too transfixed by the sight outside to turn back to the rest of the room. Your heart began to race as a huge black van pulled up; four figures suited head to toe in black emerged; they gathered around the body. Three swept the mass up into an opaque bag with incredible speed, and a fourth began pouring some kind of liquid on the bloodied snow. You could see it vaguely bubble before washing away. In a few seconds, they had moved on, leaving only a mass of exposed pavement. The helicopter’s whirr faded.

“Our tax dollars at work,” you heard Terezi say.

“They took the body. Sanitized the area, too,” you said, leaving the peephole at last.

“Sounds efficient,” Dave commented.

You looked around the room. A chuckle rose in your throat.

“Anyone ever read the Decameron?”

Aradia met your eyes and smiled weakly.

“Fuck the Decameron,” Terezi said. “Listen. If these things are getting common enough that we can see them, and it takes what, at least five or six military guys to clean up each one – a couple to pilot and shoot, and what, three more to get rid of the corpse? --  I feel safe deeming that an intolerably immense strain on the special forces. If they’ve recruited normal military personnel and police, or RMCPs, or whatever they have here, to help, well, that’s not much better. With something this contagious even strictly trained special ops and medical specialists are going to make mistakes.”

You sat back down on the bed. “I won’t be surprised if half the fucking military is dead by next week. Well, undead.” You started looking around the ceiling.

“I agree,” Aradia said. “And I wouldn’t be surprised if other people have had the same idea as we have. With the cabins and all.”

Dave turned on the TV and began flipping channels. A slightly greater number than usual were simply blank static.

You stood up, dragged out the desk chair to the corner by the bathroom, and mounted it, reaching up to the ceiling.

“What’s he doing,” Terezi asked.

“Um, Sollux?” Aradia said.

You made no particular reply, just pulled out your Swiss Army knife and began unscrewing the smoke monitor. Out of the corner of your eye you saw Karkat rub his head in aggravation.

“I know exactly what this chucklefuck is doing,” Karkat proclaimed. “He’s taking down the fucking smoke detector so he can fill up the room with nasty ass cigarette butts, and spit, and smoke.”

“This is why we aren’t roommates anymore,” You commented as you stepped down off the chair and stowed the smoke detector in the desk drawer.

“One of many fucking reasons,” Karkat grumbled. “Dave, _will you put some fucking pants on, for Jesus sake!”_

Dave looked down in apparent surprise at his rainbow-patterned boxers. “Oh. Right.” He looked up. “You know, sometimes I forget what a vehement motherfuckin pantist you are, til you give me these lovely-ass romantic reminders.” He bent down to his duffel bag and began rummaging.

“Damn straight.”

“Haha, straight.” Dave retrieved his trousers and stood to apply them. Addressing the room at large, he said, “So shouldn’t we start headin for a cabin? If they’re all gonna be gone soon?”

Aradia shook her head. “Let’s wait another two days.” She opened the curtain enough to get a view across the street, then closed it. “When the gas station across the way stays closed. That’s when we know shit’s going downhill.”

Terezi nodded. “We can’t risk it while the forces of the law are still semi-active.”

You sat back down on the bed and lit up a smoke. Karkat shot you a look.

“I smoke two a day. And I’m not going outside to get eaten,” you said in your most acrid voice.

“If you have to,” Terezi frowned and pulled her computer into her lap.

You were three drags in when two knocks sounded at the door. Everyone jumped. You put out your cigarette on the bedside table.

Before Aradia could answer the door, it was unlocked from the outside, and a head of tangled hair and large-frame glasses poked through.

“I’m the motel manager. No smoking inside.” Her voice was raspy; she snapped her fingers at you. Aradia snorted quietly; the manager shot her a look and left.

“What?” You asked, curling up inside at the glares of everyone – well, everyone except Aradia, who wore a look of vague amusement.

“She was smoking in the lobby when I checked in,” Aradia said.


	12. Babysitters Club: Asitic Reactions

It took Sollux five hours for his need for nicotine to overcome his fear of being eaten by zombies. When he finally stepped outside, his skin-and-bones frame shivering in the cold wind, the rest of the gang were preparing to go stock up on food.

“I’ll hold down the fort,” he said, waving them off. What he actually meant was “I’ll chainsmoke and get my rig set up to do some work on.”

“Get me whiskey!” He called as they departed for the Prius. Aradia looked back at him and smiled.

He went back to his cigarette as the Prius pulled away. Then to another cigarette, and another. Sollux was determined to make himself feel downright nauseous. He reckoned he deserved it.

From the lobby, Vriska watched the Prius make its exit. Four kids had entered. There were four of them total, she was sure. Time for some expert recon.

“TAVROS!” She yelled, dinging the concierge bell obnoxiously. “Take over in here for a minute! If you can manage to do that without blowing the place up.”

A thickset kid sporting a mohawk emerged from the back room. “O-okay, sure,” he stuttered, and slipped into her seat at the front desk as she departed through the front door.

By the time she reached room 17, Sollux had headed inside, teeth chattering, and was setting up his rig.

Vriska opened the door. Sollux fell out of his chair.

“What the fuck!” He asked indignantly.

“Uh, room service,” Vriska said, walking in and shutting the door behind her. She proceeded to the trash can in the bathroom, as if to empty it, but not before giving a long sideeye to the bags that took up most of the floor space.

That one was definitely a tent, she saw through the clear packaging. A number of grocery bags with camping supplies. Duffel bags, all split open and erupted with clothes. And the skinny nerd picking himself up off the carpet in front of an impressive array of computer gimmicks.

In the bathroom, Vriska removed the trash bag and tied it off, then started looking for drugs. Sollux stepped over to block the doorway as the unkempt manager lifted up the toilet casing and peered inside.

“Room service?” Sollux’s tone dripped with sarcasm.

“Yeah, didn’t you guys report a leak?” Before he could open his mouth to deny it, she said, “Well, I don’t see one,” and pushed him out of the way so she could check the mattress.

Sollux eyed her as she made the bed. This seemed to involve a lot of checking under the mattress and patting it down. She gave the pillows the same cursory examination before finally making the bed with all the skill of a mildly anaesthetized three-year-old.

“Bullshit,” Sollux announced, seating himself once more before his computer. “Why are you searching the room?”

Vriska turned to face him, caught sight of the boxes of ammo spilling out of one plastic Walmart bag, and decided to talk straight. One hand behind her back, she hit the speedial for Eridan.

“Look, I know you got a big cargo. It’s obviously not here. I really hope you’re not keeping it in the car, because that’s twice as stupid as you look – not something I thought was possible. And if you want help, I can help you out. I run the deals around here. Ket, crack, meth, whatever you’re selling I can make it a hell of a lot easier. For a small cut, of course. Then again, if you wanna play rough, I can fuck you over so fast your eyes water. Trust me.” Something merciless glinted in her eye.

Sollux stared at her for a moment, then broke down in wheezing laughter.

“J-Jesus,” he said, finally coughing himself to coherency. “You’re the stupideset fucking drug dealer I’ve ever met. We’re hiding from the fucking _zombie apocalypse_! Christ!”

Vriska raised an eyebrow. “Fine. You wanna play it that way, sure. But you are going to regret this, big time.”

“Listen, Heisenberg, I’m telling the truth, fuck you whether you believe it or not. In two weeks you’re going to be running to me while the zombies gnaw off your arms.”

Vriska looked in disgust at the thin, smirking face before her.

“Whatever. Don’t come running to me when the big man makes you burn.”

She spat on the floor and exited.

“The fuck was this!” Eridan exclaimed through the phone as she paced away from room 17.

“I’m dealing with it,” Vriska said. “Tonight.”


	13. Interludicrosity: 2

The author leans back off the porch and into the thunderstorm. There is no scent of highacinths. The rain pours down their shirt, and errant drops have spattered deep to the back of the porch, almost reaching their computer.

This is the best way to put out a cigarette.

The heavy dripline begins to waterboard them.

The author is still for a long time.


	14. Babysitters Club: Sitterference

As soon as Aradia had stepped in the door, you had known something was wrong.

She had that manic look in her eye, and a swath of coagulating blood striped her painfully bare left arm.

“What happened,” you demanded immediately, standing and stepping towards the door.

“This is worse than we thought,” she said. “We need to get out of the city, now.” Karkat, Terezi, and Dave followed her inside.

Terezi was not her usual self either – though unmarred, she bore a look of panic you hadn’t seen on her face in years – since the LSAT, actually. Dave came in last, breathing heavily, and slammed the door.

“Dammit didn’t I tell you loud noises attract them?” Karkat had on his prime air of exhortation, then his eyes fell on you. “Oh my god, Sollux, are you ok? Did you see any…? Fuck, they’re everywhere, I’m so glad you’re alright--” Karkat embraced you tightly and you tensed a little, but didn’t bother to push him off.

“Again, what happened.”

Aradia sat on the bed and shrugged; you saw the weight of a century on her shoulders. “Not much. They’re everywhere. Army’s everywhere. Both of them are killing everything that moves.”

There was a short silence. “I’m glad I’m blind,” Terezi offered quietly. “The sounds, the smells were bad enough.”

Dave put his arm around her and squeezed gently. “I’m glad you’re small enough to carry, T.”

Another wave of _something_ sunk over you. It wasn’t doom, you knew doom, it was a feeling of being lost in doom. Terezi was hardly a liability in any normal situation, but this? How could she run, drive, fight?

You looked around the room. “So, I guess no supplies.” At least you had three capable people – well, until Karkat had a nervous breakdown, anyway. You could smell that one coming from fucking New Hampshire.

Aradia shook her head. “Like I said, we need to get out.”

“Can’t we just wait here?” The sentence escaped Karkat as less a plan and more a plea.

“No. I think you know that.”

The room was silent again. You started packing up your rig. “There’s some ramen in one of these bags,” you said. “And we need to eat. Dave?”

Dave nodded and started rummaging.

“The rest of you, start getting your shit together, and I don’t just mean packing,” you continued, the rising of your voice surprising you. “I _refuse,_ I fucking _refuse_ to die to one of those things.”

Ramen was served. It was lukewarm.

Something crashed into the door. Aradia jumped and produced a .44 from apparently nowhere. You cast around in panic and grabbed her old machete from the floor. You readied yourself for the groaning of one of them.

But something entirely other happened: “Let me in, dammit! Let me _in!_ ”

Your breath left you in your confusion. You looked to Aradia; her dark curls swept over her face but you could swear she was smiling. Something about that sent chills down your spine.

She lowered her Glock and stepped to the peephole. Without further ado, she opened the door. The hotel manager fell in, more disheveled than ever, and Aradia rapidly closed the door behind her.

“Well. What have we here,” Aradia said. You might have thought under different circumstances that there was a tinge of the smug in her voice.

“Fuck, fuck you.”The manager picked herself off the floor. “I fucking need shelter, alright? If you guys are _really_ the goody types, you’ll help me out, huh?”

No one in the room responded.

“What?” Terezi asked finally, in annoyed confusion.

“She thinks we’re drug dealers. Infringing on _her_ business,” you informed the room.

Aradia snorted violently. How had she gotten the time to put on that bright red lipstick today? Not smeared at all.

You pulled your eyes from her lips before she noticed. Fuck.

“Well, if you wanna prove me wrong, go ahead.” You felt your eyebrows raise as the manager grabbed Aradia’s pistol-heavy wrist and pulled the weapon barrel-first into her heaving breast. Aradia split into a grin.

“Give me a fucking good death before those biters out there get to me,” the manager goaded.

“You’re an idiot,” Aradia said, and wrenched away the pistol. “And you have terrible safety habits.”

The hotel manager bared her teeth in a not-quite grin. “That’s me. I’m Vriska, by the way. And guess what’s behind me.”

You heard a low, labored wheezing outside the door.

You didn’t think about what you were doing. Definitely a mistake. You grabbed this Vriska by the throat before she could react, and something in you gave your weak frame the strength to pin her back to the door.

“I swear to God,” you hissed, “If those things get in here, your death will be _anything. But. Good._ ”

Aradia was at his side, wresting his arm away before he was even done with his threats, and Vriska stayed put against the door, rubbing her throat.

“They would have come here sooner or later anyw-“

“Shut _up_ ,” Terezi commanded suddenly. “They can hear you.”

The wheezing was not moving on. Something leaned against the door and began scratching.

Fuck.


End file.
